


The New English Dancing Master

by Nothingshire



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Kink Meme, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothingshire/pseuds/Nothingshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's March 1806 and fear of French invasion stalks the land - except at Hurtfew Abbey, where Mr Norrell is quite happy to ignore the whole business, provided that Bonaparte doesn't try to borrow any books. How can John Childermass persuade him that now is the ideal time for a practical magician to reveal himself to the government? Will Mr Norrell really agree to attend a ball at York Assembly Rooms - and ask a lady to dance? Who is going to teach him to dance anyway? Who would win a duel - Hannah the maid or Napoleon? And why does Brewer the horse deserve a carrot but Childermass does not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

March 1806

It was Mr Norrell’s habit, on first entering his library of a morning, to look around and preen himself a little at the pleasant sight it presented. The high windows - the warming fire - his desk laid ready with paper and pens - the obedient books safe on the shelves - Childermass usually seated in his own chair waiting to carry out his orders – the vista rarely failed to lift his spirits. This March morning however his eye fell almost immediately on an inharmonious intruder.

“Childermass,” he said “what is that doing on my desk?” Childermass got up and walked over to where his master was standing and pointing with mingled horror and outrage.

“It’s a newspaper, sir,” he said “not a mouse. The York Chronicle for last Tuesday.”

“Remove it immediately,” said Mr Norrell. “You know that I never read newspapers. Why is it even in the house?”

Childermass picked up the offending publication but instead of throwing it away, began to read aloud.

“To be held at the Mansion House on Saturday fifth April, a grand banquet in honour of Sir Charles Granville, Bart: His Lordship the mayor to host and many other distinguished members of York Society to be present.”

“And what is that to me?” said Mr Norrell.

“The Lord Mayor is Mr Thomas Wilson the bookseller,” said Childermass. “He will be sure to send you an invitation, you being a valued customer.”

“And I will be just as sure to tell you to place it in the fire, which is where that newspaper should be. Go to a banquet in York on an April evening? I might as well bathe in Hurtfew River for the good it would do my health.”

“I do not mean for you to go to the banquet,” said his man of business.

“Then why are you telling me this? I know that you can read Childermass, I would not employ you if you could not.”

Childermass began again. 

“On the same evening at the York Assembly Rooms, a ball to be held in honour of Lady Granville, wife to Sir Charles.” I mean for you to attend this dance, sir.”

“Childermass, are you drunk?” said Mr Norrell, bewildered. 

“Sir Charles Granville is Undersecretary of State for War. He will be here to learn what we think of the war in the north - to see whether we fear French invasion.”

“Oh, the French!” said Mr Norrell with a sniff. In truth, he did not concern himself overmuch with the great conflict now raging over the globe. Napoleon might do what he liked outside England; there were no books of magic there. “But why should any of this mean that I must attend a dance – which I am not going to in any case,” he added quickly.

Childermass reached inside his coat and pulled out another publication which even he had apparently not dared to place on Mr Norrell’s desk. On the cover were the words ‘La Belle Assemblee Or Bell’s Court & Fashionable Magazine addressed Particularly to the Ladies’ and various line drawings of young women in classical robes and fashionable dresses. (The magazine had been acquired by Hannah from her particular friend Sarah, a lady’s maid at Castle Howard; Sarah in turn had been given it as a present by an aristocratic young lady visiting from London who had appreciated Sarah’s discretion when she discovered an impassioned young gentleman in the young London lady’s bedchamber some hours after both their bedtimes). 

Childermass opened it and began to read once more.

“Amongst the chief adornments of London Society this season is Lady Charlotte Granville, wife to Sir Charles Granville, as famed for her ladylike grace on the dancing floor as for her womanly good sense in retirement. Grateful is Britannia, that Sir Charles Granville, who bears so heavy a burden, has so charming a companion to console and even advise him, it is rumoured, in the execution of his duties as undersecretary of war. Those who wish to bring some method of defeating our foes to Sir Charles’s attention know well that the soft pleas and charming sighs of his wife are their best advocate.”

“And what does that mean?” said Mr Norrell, who had apparently decided that as a drunkard or a madman, Childermass should be treated with caution.

“If you want to meet Sir Charles Granville and have him become your friend in government, then the easiest way is to speak to his wife. She has the influence,” said Childermass.

“What influence?” said Mr Norrell, gripping the edge of his desk and wondering if this was all a terrible dream.

“The usual influence a nice looking lass of twenty has over a husband of forty five,” said Childermass. He held the magazine out so that Mr Norrell could see a sketch entitled ‘Lady Charlotte -The Belle of London’ depicting a young woman whom connoisseurs would have agreed was of very fine looks, standing arm in arm with a gentleman of no particular looks at all who appeared some twenty years her senior.

Mr Norrell was not such a connoisseur and his only reaction was to quietly congratulate himself that he remained a bachelor.

“Why would I want to speak to this Sir Charles in any case?” he said.

“The war is going badly for England and her allies, sir. It is time for a new strategy. You can offer something that no other man in England can – practical magic. We need to bring you to the government’s attention and here is a government minister on our doorstep.”

There was a long silence as Mr Norrell gazed at the desk, his books and anywhere but Childermass’s eye.

“I have not quite decided that I am ready to do that”, he said finally.

“We stood in this room a year ago and decided it, Mr Norrell – it was just after you devised your plan for the sea beacons. You agreed that you needed to make the acquaintance of some London politician or great lord or some such,” said Childermass.

“Perhaps I could write a letter to the First Minster,” suggested Mr Norrell.

“It would never reach him and would be thrown away as coming from a lunatic.”

“I might attend the banquet and speak to this Sir Charles there then,” said Mr Norrell grudgingly.

“If you go to the banquet then you will have to fight for his attention with every other man in Yorkshire who has an opinion on how to bring Boney down. And you will not fight – you will sit and eat your meal and ignore your neighbours and come home at nine.”

“Then what good is going to this dance at the Assembly Rooms?”

“The ball is for Lady Charlotte,” said Childermass. “The other men there will be young bucks and soldiers who will only want to talk to her about fashion and horses and such.”

“I will have nothing to talk to her about.”

“You will not need to talk to her much – just a little private conversation while you are dancing.”

“Now I know that you are mad, Childermass,” said Mr Norrell. “ Dance? With a girl of 20? Shall I grow wings and fly around the ballroom while I am at it? She would not want to dance with me anyway.”

“She will have no choice,” said Childermass. “Her husband and all the other important men of York will be at the banqueting hall until well after the ball has started. You will be the oldest man of senior rank there and she will have to open the dance with you. Once you are holding her hand” – Mr Norrell gave a start of terror – “it will be a simple matter for you to tell her that you should like to speak to her husband in person about the war and a strategy for preventing invasion that you and you alone have devised. Make yourself agreeable; flatter her that you have spoken to her first because you trust her good sense; and she will introduce you to her husband. Then you can explain in private that you are a practical magician and describe the sea beacons to him.”

Had Mr Norrell been in the habit of laughing this was where he would have burst into fits of it.

“What has possessed you to come up with such a plan, Childermass?”

“Because every other plan I have made has been rejected by you,” burst out his servant in a sudden passion. “I told you to go to Castle Howard last year to dine with Earl Howard when his cousin who knows Lord Liverpool was staying – you refused.”

“It was October – you know that I never go out at night in October,” said Mr Norrell. “Besides, the Countess owns a cat.”

“The Prince of Wales was at York Races last summer and you would not go to pay your respects him,” continued Childermass.

“His father may be sane again tomorrow, so what is point of having his patronage?” said Mr Norrell. “In any case, horses make me sneeze.”

“The York Society of Magicians have asked you more than once to join them. They are very respectable gentlemen who could be your supporters.”

“They are not practical magicians Childermass, and I do not mean to give them the opportunity of becoming so,” said Mr Norrell.

“Do you never consider what would happen if Napoleon were to invade Great Britain sir?” said Childermass with a sigh.

“He would never dare to come into Yorkshire,” said Mr Norrell. “Would he? Would he not be content with the South?”

“Why would he not march north? Who would own Surrey when he could have Yorkshire?” said Childermass. As a yorkshireman, Mr Norrell could not contradict him. “And who would stop Napoleon once he had taken the south? Nottinghamshire? Lancashire? They will fall like ninepins.”

“But,” he continued, “let us say that you are correct, sir. Let us say that Boney conquers the rest of England but dares not enter Yorkshire. Will he not continue on further north? He cannot let Scotland remain free.”

“Oh, Scotland,” said Mr Norrell who seemed to think that the French and the Scots deserved each other.

“Yes sir, Scotland. And what is the finest castle outside Edinburgh in the borders of that country?”

Mr Norrell paled. “Floors Castle” he whispered.

It should be explained that Floors Castle was the seat of the Duke of Roxburghe and home to his magnificent library which contained several books of magic that not even Mr Norrell owned. Mr Norrell had written to the Duke several times asking to purchase or even simply to view these items but his grace was strangely disinclined to recognise Mr Norrell’s superior claims to any and all volumes concerning English magic. The result was that Mr Norrell had to go to sleep every night knowing that there were magical books outside his protection and not even on English soil. Sometimes he dreamt that he heard them crying out to him to be rescued.

At the first rejection Mr Norrell had simply bided his time, confident that the duke, like every other nobleman, would sooner or later find himself in pressing need of ready money. But his grace, it seemed, had no sense of the obligations due from a member of the English aristocracy. He incurred no gambling debts, he kept no expensive mistresses, he fathered no wayward sons but instead lived a life of scholarship and quiet mourning for a lost love. As a result he had no need to sell his library to Mr Norrell. Mr Norrell took this as a personal insult.

Childermass saw that his point had gone home. “You would not want to see The Mirrour of the Lyf of Ralph Stokesie’ on the end a Frenchman’s sword, or torn up to wrap snails in, would you sir?” he said. “But a magician who had prevented such an invasion – why, he could not be refused as a guest by any nobleman in the land. The king would make the Duke of Roxburghe show you his library. And all you need to do to begin with is dance one dance with a young lady.”

But now a certain cunning look had come over Mr Norrell’s face.

“If Napoleon were to seize Floors Castle, he would not understand the value of its library. Why should he not sell it to me?”

“Why should we not negotiate with the emperor of the French to buy some books sir?” said Childermass.

“Why yes. Napoleon is rational even if he is French. I am sure that we could strike a bargain. He must need money to fight all these wars after all.”

“Firstly, he is Corsican,” said Childermass “and secondly...”

“That makes no difference,” said Mr Norrell who held the traditional English belief that all foreigners are essentially the same – that is, not English. “No, I should simply explain to him that I need to have the books and am prepared to pay him the proper price. Perhaps I could invite him to Hurtfew for dinner. He will not have seen so fine a house on the continent I believe.”

“And when Napoleon asks why you want the books, what will you say sir?” asked Childermass, perhaps wondering which one of them was drunk.

“Oh, I shall not say that I am a practical magician,” said Mr Norrell. “I will simply explain to him that I am a scholar of magic, that the books contain dangerous spells and that it would be best for them to be here at Hurtfew where I can guard them.”

“I am sure that the Czar of Russia wishes that he had as shrewd an advisor as you Mr Norrell,” said Childermass. “And you do not think that Napoleon will wonder why you want such powerful spells? You do not think that he would have you locked up in the cellars here as a dangerous sorcerer? Or maybe brought out in a cage and made to do magic tricks like a street conjuror for the amusement of his troops?”

“You would rescue me, Childermass,” said Mr Norrell with a certainty that his servant would have found affecting if he were not so angry.

“I will be hanging from the pear tree in the orchard along with Davey and Lucas sir,” said Childermass. “Perhaps one of the housemaids could save you. Hannah has the most spirit; I will have to make sure that she knows where the keys to the gun cabinet are kept. Perhaps she could arm herself with a pistol and challenge Napoleon to a duel and rescue you that way.”

“You always have to push things into ridicule, Childermass,” said Mr Norrell. “I do not see that my plan is any worse than yours.” 

“Invite Napoleon to dinner to ask him for some books? Yes that makes a great deal of practical sense,” said Childermass. “As for my plan, who knows how Hannah would do? Boney might be scared of her and surrender – after all, you are too scared to ask a lass of twenty to dance. And sir, to be serious now, I must warn you that when I see you refuse to take such a fine chance to advance yourself and English magic, it makes me wonder whether I should seek some other employment where my advice would be better appreciated. I would not want to do that but what good do I do here if you will not let people know you are practical magician? How else is magic to be restored?”

This was a severe threat and Mr Norrell knew that Childermass would not have made it lightly.

“What kind of dance?” he asked at last.

“A very simple one sir – a pavane or such - more or less just walking around the room,” said Childermass.

“I will consider it,” said Mr Norrell, which his servant knew meant that he would do it but would not admit that he had been out argued.

“I shall visit York tomorrow and buy a book of dancing instructions,” said Childermass, “not in any of the usual bookshops that I visit of course, and then you can practise.”

“I suppose that I will have to have a partner to practise with,” said Mr Norrell gloomily.

Childermass considered this for a moment. “Dido is a good quiet girl and about the right height,” he said. “She will not gossip in the kitchen if I ask her.”

“Oh no Childermass,” said Mr Norrell with a cold smile. “If I am to suffer this indignity, then you will be my partner and suffer too.”

Childermass could not very well refuse and so he agreed with a nod and a grimace.

This was not the last of Mr Norrell’s objections – he fought a series of desperate rearguard skirmishes with Childermass over the next week, citing colds, headaches and highway men as immoveable obstacles in the way of his attending the ball. But the invitation duly arrived and was answered ‘yes’ and the dancing manual was procured from York. One morning Mr Norrell came down to his library to find the central table pushed back and Childermass awaiting him in middle of floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr Norrell walked slowly to his desk and picked up the book lying there. “’The New English Dancing Master’ by Mr John Playford,” he read aloud. “I wonder if I have any of this gentleman’s previous works on my shelves.”

“It’s a book and you like books,” said Childermass.

“This is not a book, it is a painted abomination and I do not want it on my desk,” said Mr Norrell. He picked the volume up with two fingers and handed it to Childermass. “Even having it in the room insults my other books. Could I place it next to Belasis or Pevensey? I might as well invite a woman of the town to dinner with an archbishop.”

“If a book is not respectable then I cannot help you,” said Childermass. “As for women of the town maybe they would not care to dine with you. Now come along sir; the sooner we start this, the sooner we shall be finished.”

“Dancing in a library,” said Mr Norrell with a sniff. There were other rooms that would have suited his purpose better – the small ballroom next to the entrance hall or even the sitting room. But these chambers lay outside the maze that protected the library and so could not be used for fear of spectators, even though everyone in the servants’ hall knew exactly what Mr Norrell and Childermass were about. Childermass had obeyed Mr Norrell’s instructions not to breathe a word of their enterprise to the letter but Mr Norrell had not been able to resist expounding at length to Hannah about the latest outrage that his man of business had bullied him into while she was laying the drawing room fire. It never seemed to occur to Mr Norrell that his servants spoke to each other about him when he was not present.

“Magicians have danced before,” said Childermass. “Did you not tell me that Martin Pale once lived for a year and a day under a spell that made him break into a hornpipe whenever he heard a bell ring?”

“Dancing charms,” said Mr Norrell, brightening. “You raise a very interesting point, Childermass .I have somewhere a.....”

He reached up to take a book from a high shelf but Childermass just as smartly leant over, took the volume out of his hands and tucked it away even higher.

“This is the only book that we will read today, sir,” he said, ignoring Mr Norrell’s mulish look and holding out the manual. “Now, let us start with introductions – the gentleman begins by bowing to the lady. Stand up straight and bow to me.”

Mr Norrell scowled, clamped his arms to his sides, and tipped himself forward and back from the waist, rather like a wooden toy soldier with a hinge in its back.

“And that is supposed to make her want to dance with you?” said Childermass, folding his arms. “Why not stamp on her toes while you are about it?”

“You said that she would have to dance with me,” said Mr Norrell. “I do not see why I should have to beg and scrape to make her. How would you do it?”

Childermass took one foot a step back, placed his hand on his breast and outlined a manly but graceful bow in the air.

“Now you sir,” he said. Mr Norrell huffed but after several attempts was able to bow a little more fluently and hold out his hand. The two of them bobbed like herons bending to catch fish for several minutes until Childermass was satisfied.

“That will do for the present,” he said. “Now, you take her hand....”

“Wait a minute,” said Mr Norrell, who had deigned to consult the manual. “It says here that after the gentleman bows, the lady curtsies. You have not curtsied to me.”

“I bowed,” said his servant. “The lady will know how to curtsey.”

“If I must learn how to bow then you must learn how to curtsey,” said Mr Norrell, folding his arms. 

Childermass gave him a hard look and a sigh and then somehow arranged his long legs one behind the other to bob down and up rather like a spider preparing to pounce.

“There, is that good enough for you sir?” he said, rising rather flushed.

“No,” said Mr Norrell. He read from the manual “’The lady enacts a graceful curtsey and smiles’. “You were not graceful and you certainly did not smile. Am I really supposed to want to dance with you after that display?”

“As much as I want to dance with you; now take my hand and stop blathering,” said his servant who foresaw a lengthy diversion if he did not keep the two of them strictly on the dancing path.

Mr Norrell held out two reluctant fingers and clasped Childermass’s hand. “And are black fingernails the fashion in London?” he asked with a sniff.

“As much as horsehair wigs are in Yorkshire, apparently,” said Childermass, picking up the manual with his free hand. He held it up so that both he and Mr Norrell could read it.

“‘The March’ – This is how a ball usually starts, it seems. We both hold hands and stand facing forward and take three paces; then we skip and continue another three and then skip again. That seems simple enough.”

“Skip,” said Mr Norrell in tones that suggested that Childermass had asked him to fly around the room. “First it was walking, now it is walking and jumping. What next? Playing the penny whistle? This is far too complicated for a human being to manage!”

“I am sorry sir,” said Childermass, “I may have thought that what with you being a grown man in possession of all four limbs that you might have managed this, seeing as chits of fourteen can learn it in an afternoon. But maybe you are not as clever as I supposed. Shall I bring Brewer in and see how he does with it?”

“Brewer would have made a better curtsey,” muttered Mr Norrell but he took three paces forward and skipped. His first attempt made him look like a small boy splashing into a puddle (something that the young Mr Norrell had rather enjoyed, he suddenly remembered) but after several minutes of Childermass beating time and calling “One – two – three – ” he was able to both walk and raise himself a little off the ground on one foot. 

Childermass himself merely walked, explaining to Mr Norrell that he had enough to do to match his long strides to his master’s shorter steps without risking a broken skull on the library’s vaulted ceilings. 

By the end of the first hour Mr Norrell was able to walk and skip the length of the library in one direction without risking the bookshelves. It was not a great achievement but it was more steps than Mr Norrell had ever danced before. By the end of the morning he was able to negotiate an entire circuit with only one or two collisions with the candle stands and was beginning to feel more confident.

“Really this is not as difficult as you made it sound Childermass; I do not know why you made such a fuss about it,” he said. “Even with so bad a partner as you I am practically an expert already.”

Childermass, whose shins had borne the brunt of their encounters with the library’s many stone arches, did not reply, perhaps to save his breath for panting.

With that Mr Norrell declared their first lesson over and retired to his chair in front of the fire with a blanket, a cup of hot chocolate and a book for the rest of the day. Childermass meanwhile returned to the duties that awaited him and to give a stern glance around the servant’s hall when Davey began to whistle ‘The Old Yorkshire Couple’.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day Childermass announced that they must attempt the Chasse step in case Lady Charlotte should insist on it when the March was done. Mr Norrell said learnedly that it was well known that young ladies were fond of it and declared himself ready.

The two of them laid The New English Dancing Master on the desk where it was now allowed to rest and considered the instructions.

“Is there a sheet missing? I do not see what we are to do,” said Mr Norrell at last. The page in front of him shewed the figures of a lady and gentleman with their feet surrounded with arrows and various strange runes in a language that resembled nothing in Faerie or Christendom.

“I suppose they are the instructions for the steps that we must dance, in dancing symbols,” said Childermass, frowning. “Well, I can steer a ship by the stars but I cannot make head or tail of this: I envy the lass who can. Perhaps we should see if there is an easier one we could learn?”

“I will not be beaten by a book,” said Mr Norrell, sitting down at his desk and grasping the manual with an air of martial determination that suggested that he might have been a more formidable opponent for Napoleon than his servant had supposed.

For some minutes he frowned and pondered and made notes on a sheet of paper before exclaiming “Yes, I have it,” and getting to his feet. “Childermass, come here, and stand straight for once.”

Childermass unbent himself from the arch on which he had been leaning and watching Mr Norrell and walked to the centre of the room, tilting himself a little more to the perpendicular as he did so. Mr Norrell rolled his eyes but came to stand beside him with his own notes in his hand.

“Now, we stand next to each other facing forward, I put my right hand here on the middle of your back and hold your right hand, you put your left hand on my arm and then we skip forward together with our left feet.”

Childermass followed his instructions as best as he could. Unfortunately, Mr Norrell’s talk of right and left had made him temporarily confused as to which was which and the two of them dropped to the floor like a three legged horse.

“Really, Childermass, I think that you could make a little more effort to take this seriously,” said Mr Norrell, heaving himself upright by the simple method of using his servant as a climbing frame. “Now try again.”

Childermass observed that he had had met press gangs more courteous than Mr Norrell’s style of partnering and begged him to remember that when dancing with Lady Charlotte. But there was no help for it but to take Mr Norrell’s hand again and let himself be steered around the library.

After an hour’s practice and many consultations of Mr Norrell’s notes, Childermass had been obliged to tie back his hair out of his eyes and Mr Norrell to remove his jacket. But they were now able to dance the step with efficiency if not grace and without bumping into the majority of the walls. 

Seeking another challenge, Childermass arranged the chairs and candle stands around the room, naming them as he went – “That will be Lord Burlington – this little chair will be Mrs Thomas Wilson –“. Then master and servant joined hands again and danced as fast as they could through the library. Childermass could not help but laugh for the fun of it and even Mr Norrell was prevailed upon to say “I beg your pardon, Madam,” when he bumped into the candle stand that they had christened ‘Lady Howard’. He might almost be said to be enjoying himself.

At last Childermass stopped, pleading a stitch in his side. “You have done well, sir,” he said, panting a little and resting against the wall.

“It is a little like casting a spell,” said Mr Norrell, wiping his face. “At first, one feels awkward and clumsy and it seems that the movements will never make sense. But then suddenly one understands it and does it quite naturally without thinking.”

“It is just the country dancing we do in the fields and taverns, dressed up for Ladies and Gentlemen, as far as I can see,” said Childermass. “When I was a sailor I knew many dances more difficult than this and they were not written down in a book. I danced as I wanted and made up my own steps if I pleased.”

Mr Norrell seldom considered Childermass’s life before he had joined his service; when he did so, it was chiefly to think that his man of business should have realised somehow that he was needed at Hurtfew and should have made efforts to arrive a great deal earlier than he had. 

“I do not see how you could make up your own dances,” he said. “Surely the steps must be written down so that they can be studied and followed correctly?”

“It is easy enough when you have a tune to dance to, and give yourself a little freedom,” said Childermass. He walked to the middle of the library and executed a few skips and hops of his own, then began to hum the tune of an old ballad to accompany himself. Mr Norrell watched him for a moment, puzzled but not offended until he recalled the old song’s words.

“You will not sing that tune in my house, Childermass,” he said, suddenly grave.

“Where else should I sing it but in His own house and on His own lands?” said Childermass, holding out his hand. “Come, sir, join me and see if you like this dance.”

“I dance what is in the manual and respectable,” said Mr Norrell. “You may leave me for today, Childermass.”

On the third day, have made sure that Mr Norrell had not forgotten how to March or Chasse overnight, Childermass announced that it was time to practice what Mr Norrell should say to Lady Charlotte while they were dancing.

“Begin with a compliment,” he said.

Mr Norrell looked bewildered. “How am I to compliment her? There is nothing about her that I like – she is merely the means to an end.”

Childermass sighed. “Just find something pleasant to say. For instance, Hannah came into the kitchen this morning in a new dress and I said to her ‘Hannah that is a fine dress that suits you very well’.”

(In fact Childermass had said “Lass, John Uskglass would carry you off to Agrace if he could see you now,” but this was not a line that he felt would suit Mr Norrell).

“Why were you paying compliments to Hannah?” said Mr Norrell. “Are you and she courting? Oh, I see what this means. First you will be hiding and whispering in corners and so the running of Hurtfew will go to rack and ruin. Then you will be married and then there will be a baby in the house and next you will be off to be a shopkeeper in Harrogate and I will have to find another servant. Well, run away if you must, you will not get a character from me. Really, this is the end!”

“I am not courting Hannah, Mr Norrell, and we do not want for a baby in this house,” said Childermass. “Now, try again. Begin with something light and easy; ask her how she finds York.”

Mr Norrell sighed and asked Childermass how he found York in as dull a monotone as possible.

“Very charming, sir with many fine buildings,” said Childermass, affecting a bright air. “And how do you find it yourself?”

“I detest it and try never to come here,” said Mr Norrell.

“Then why are you here tonight?” said Childermass, perhaps a little less brightly.

“My servant, who continually oversteps his place, insisted on my coming here to dance with you, even though I told him it was a foolish idea. I sometimes wonder why I keep the fellow employed.”

“Presumably, Mr Norrell, he has some special qualities that recommend him to you,” said Childermass. “Perhaps he is the only man in the north of England who can endure being a nursemaid to a fifty year old.”

“She is not going to say that, she hardly knows me,” said Mr Norrell.

“She may have formed a very quick opinion of you, sir. But let us forget light and charming,” said Childermass, who knew how to abandon a lost cause. “How does this sound? ‘Madam, I am not going to waste your time with idle compliments on your dress, charming though it is. I asked to dance this measure with you because of the admiration I have for your good sense and judgement.”

“I have to learn lines as well as dance?” said Mr Norrell but he repeated the words carefully and they seemed well suited to his person.

“Good,” said Childermass. “Now she will reply ‘Thank you sir, but what can you mean?’”

“I just told her what I meant – why does she not understand?” 

“You need to explain further –‘Madam, I have devised a method of protecting the country from French invasion and I need to tell the government of it as quickly as possible.”

“I will have to have this written down,” said Mr Norrell. “But go on, what will she say in return?”

Childermass thought for a moment. “Probably ‘Sir, I am a young lady, I have no knowledge of such things.’”

“Then why am I wasting my time with her?” said Mr Norrell. “Really, Childermass, if this is your idea of humour...”

“Let me finish,” said Childermass who was warming to his task. “Fine young ladies always pretend to refuse a compliment – that’s how their mothers train them. You need to say; ‘I must rely on your unusual wisdom and good offices to bring it to your husband’s attention. Please do not think that this is a foolish scheme – it is something that I am sure will save England and raise Sir Charles’s reputation to the highest level should he champion it.’”

“And then she will agree and I can go home?” said Mr Norrell.

“No, I think that she would like a few more compliments,” said Childermass who was perhaps becoming a little possessive of his imagined Lady Charlotte. “But in the end she will agree - none of the younger men will think to call her clever and she will remember you because of it. You should make sure that she has your card and say that you will call on her husband at the Lord Mayor’s residence tomorrow. Or, if we are lucky, she may even ask you to meet him the same night.” 

“I should not mention magic?”

“No, leave that for when you meet Sir Charles - I will sketch out something for you to say to him tonight,” said Childermass, seizing some paper and a pen from the desk and hurrying out to write down his thoughts before he forgot them.

Before it seemed possible, it was the night of the Assembly ball. Mr Norrell and Childermass had taken the last of their daily practices in the library and Mr Norrell had dressed in his new grey suit. He had submitted to being measured for it with the grace of a cat being put into breeches and insisted on it being a size too large but even the housemaids peering around the kitchen door at their master stood in the hall agreed that he looked as well as Mr Norrell was ever going to.

Childermass had also allowed his master to purchase a new wig which Mr Norrell secretly liked a great deal better than the suit. It was dark grey and had small curls over his ears and a longer queue at the back than he usually chose. He had in fact worn it in the library every day since it had arrived from the wigmakers in York; when Childermass questioned this, Mr Norrell had explained, loftily, that wigs, like horses, needed to be broken in.

Davey and Lucas, both in high spirits at the thought of an evening in York, had brought the carriage round to the great front door. Childermass was to ride by the side of the coach on Brewer, with a pair of pistols to deter the highwaymen that Mr Norrell was sure were lurking behind every hedge between Hurtfew and the city. (As Davey remarked to Lucas, any highwayman who thought of robbing them and saw Childermass by the carriage would assume that a rival had beaten him to it).

With a last look at the Abbey, Mr Norrell allowed Childermass to hand him into the coach and shivered as he felt it drive away from his home and swing out onto the York Road.


	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps the highwaymen of Yorkshire had their own assembly ball to attend that Saturday evening for Mr Norrell’s carriage reached the outskirts of York quite unchallenged. When it stopped at the tollgate, Childermass got down from Brewer and joined Mr Norrell inside.

“How are you sir?” he said, sitting down on the opposite seat.

“Tolerably well,” said Mr Norrell, plucking at the sleeve of his cloak. “I suppose that this will be of use to me in the future when I have to go to Buckingham Palace and suchlike. They must have assembly dances in London if they have them in York.”

“They have something called ‘soirees’,” said Childermass, pulling out ‘La Belle Assemblee’ from his pocket and turning its pages.

“Soirees,” said Mr Norrell. “I have always been surprised by what other people consider to be pleasurable. A book and silence are the greatest pleasures to me.”

“You are not going to change your mind are you sir?” said Childermass, perhaps fearing that Mr Norrell, like a nervous horse, was about to shy at the last fence.

“No, no, not now that I have come so far,” said Mr Norrell. “But still - dancing in public; it is not the same as dancing in the library. People can see; people can laugh – and point - if they wish.” He gazed out of the carriage window into the dark, looking, to his servant’s eyes, even smaller than he usually did.

Childermass leant forward and patted his knee. “No one is going to look and laugh,” he said. “The Master of Ceremonies knows you are coming and would not allow it. In any case, the York Assembly ballroom is notorious for having pillars all around it – the spectators often complain that they cannot see the dancers through them. As for the other dancers, they will be too busy hoping that their feet do not slip or eying a pretty girl or a handsome soldier to look at you.”

Mr Norrell brightened a little. “A ballroom where no one can see the dancers,” he said. “That suits my purposes very well.”

The carriage drew to a halt. Childermass sprang out and helped Mr Norrell down, noticing as he did so that although the night was mild and still, his master’s hand was trembling.

“Courage, sir,” he whispered. “You can accomplish this. Martin Pale walked into Faerie; you can walk into a ballroom and get as good a welcome. And then...”

Mr Norrell swallowed and nodded. “Make sure that you have the carriage nearby so that I can depart as soon as I wish to,” he said. Then he left Childermass standing by the coach and walked alone into the great maw of light and noise that was the York Assembly Rooms.

He entered the lobby, gave his cloak and hat to the attendant - together with the sovereign that Childermass had put in his pocket for the purpose - and advanced to where a footman was announcing the mass of guests milling around him by the door to the ballroom itself.

“Your name, sir?” said the footman. Mr Norrell was hesitating – for a moment he was not entirely sure what his name was – when a large pink hand reached around the doorway and pulled him bodily into the assembly room and its miasma of heat and voices.

“Norrell!” said the hand’s owner, who proved to be Mr Prendergast, Mr Norrell’s neighbour at Blaketop Farm. “How on earth did they winkle you out of Hurtfew? Has it burnt down? Wilson,” he cried, turning to another man standing by the refreshments table, “Gilbert Norrell is here! You owe me five guineas!”

“Norrell? Are you sure?” called back Wilson, a tall, thin gentleman rather like a giraffe in spectacles.

“Who on earth could be mistaken for Gilbert Norrell?” roared Mr Prendergast by way of answer.

“True,” said Mr Wilson. “But wait – what about the dancing?”

“Ah yes,” said Mr Prendergast, turning back to Mr Norrell whom he still held by a firm grip as if fearing that he would disappear into vapour. “Norrell, there is a rumour going about that you are to open the dance with Lady Charlotte Granville. I say that it is true and Wilson says that it is a damn fool joke and that the Archbishop of York is as likely to cut a caper. What say you?”

“First of all, do not jest about my library burning down,” said Mr Norrell firmly disengaging his arm from Mr Prendergast’s hand. (“Oh, as if all those old books are worth tuppence ha’penny anyway!” said Mr Prendergast). “Secondly, yes, I am to open the dance, so if you will excuse me I must find the Master of Ceremonies and let him know that I have arrived.”

“Wilson, you owe me ten guineas now,” said Mr Prendergast to that gentleman who had joined them with a glass of punch in one hand and a devilled egg in the other.

“Oh very well,” said Mr Wilson. “But wait – Norrell, why have you taken up dancing? Ten guineas says that it is because you are now mad. Shake on it, Prendergast!”

But Mr Norrell had had enough of being bet on like the favourite at York Races and had turned to fight his way through the crowd to the front of the ballroom where the Master of Ceremonies was to be found.

“Probably is madness,” Mr Prendergast said behind him. “That is what comes from too much solitude and reading – overstrains the brain muscles. Never give a boy a book.” 

Mr Norrell meanwhile had reached the assembly room dais where stood Mr Marlborough, the Master of Ceremonies. Mr Marlborough was a pleasantly rounded gentleman in a suit and sash of far better quality than many a gentleman at the dance was wearing. When Mr Norrell found him, he was gazing over the sea of bubbling humanity below him with as much tranquillity as if it had been a millpond serenely reflecting The Dales.

“Mr Norrell of Hurtfew, of course,” he said with a bow. “Lady Charlotte is making some adjustments to her toilette – you know how it is with the ladies, sir (Mr Norrell did not but felt that he had to nod in agreement). “We will begin as soon as she appears – and here she is now.”

A young lady dressed in a headpiece of several waving feathers and a white gown had appeared by Mr Norrell’s side. Mr Marlborough made the introductions and Mr Norrell found himself bowing and taking her small cool hand in its white glove to lead her out onto the floor.

Several other couples joined them there; as they waited for the music to begin Mr Norrell wondered if he should break the silence with a comment. But just as the words “And how do you find York, Madam?” began to form on his lips, Lady Charlotte turned to him and whispered,

“Mr Norrell, before we start, I have a small confession to make.”

“You do?” said Mr Norrell, wondering why Childermass had not thought of this development.

“Yes,” said the lady. “I do not care for dancing very much and I am not very good at it.” 

“Yes you are,” whispered Mr Norrell rather sharply. “You are Lady Charlotte Granville and you love dancing. That is why Childermass made me come here tonight – he read about you in the magazine.”

“‘La Belle Assemblee’?” said Lady Charlotte with a sigh. “Yes, it publishes the most frightful nonsense. All young ladies love dancing and fashion; they must never prefer to sit down and read a book quietly at home. And who is Childermass?”

“My man of business,” said Mr Norrell, “for the present. But I really cannot understand how magazines and newspapers are allowed to tell such lies.”

“Their readers enjoy them I suppose,” said his partner. “They want me to be a great dancer so that is what I am; believe me, I could tread on the foot of every gentleman here tonight – in fact I probably will do, quite without malice – and I will still read in the York Chronicle on Monday that I was as light as Fairy Dust as I glided over the floor. It is rather as if there were another Lady Charlotte in existence; at first I used to resent her but now I rather wish that I could send her to these balls in my place.”

Mr Norrell looked closely at the young lady for the first time and noticed that under the powder on her face were the secret marks of a reader- two small dents on the side of her nose where spectacles usually rested. Had he been a different sort of observer, he might also have noticed that the artist of ‘La Belle Assemblee’ had made her features more regular and classical in his drawing but had quite failed to capture her warm eyes and lively countenance.

“Well, this is rather unfortunate; I was rather relying on you in this – I am not a dancer, Madam,” he said.

“I am very sorry for it sir, but I have to throw myself on your mercy,” said Lady Charlotte. “I wonder why have they not started the music?”

Mr Marlborough appeared at her elbow. “If you would like to indicate what dance we are to start with, My Lady, as our guest of honour?”

The lady looked to Mr Norrell. “My maid always writes this down for me in London,” she said. “Can you please help me sir?”

“First a March and then a Chasse step,” said Mr Norrell, sighing. Much as he would like to, he could not refuse to aid a lady who hated dancing and loved books.

“An admirer of Mr John Playford, I see, sir,” said Mr Marlborough and disappeared before Mr Norrell could deny it.

The music for the March began and Mr Norrell took his first step, pulling Lady Charlotte along with him. She shuffled a little, and then tripped where she should have skipped, although over what Mr Norrell could not imagine – the floor was perfectly flat. 

“Forget the jump and simply walk with me,” hissed Mr Norrell, fearing that they would end up on the ground.

“Thank you sir,” his companion whispered back. “To be truthful, I am blind as a bat without my spectacles anyway.”

Mr Norrell managed with some care to steer Lady Charlotte to the end of the hall and also to ignore the spectators peering around the pillars and even an encouraging “bravo!” from Mr Prendergast. By the time that they had turned to dance the return, he was feeling more confident and ready to broach the subject of speaking to Sir Charles.

“Madam,” he began, “I am not going to waste your time with idle compliments on your dress, charming though it is. I asked to dance this measure with you because of the admiration I have for your good sense and judgement.”

“Did you memorise that before you came?” said his partner. 

“I... why yes,” said Mr Norrell. “I cannot think of what to say extempore.”

“I sympathise,” said the lady, “I hate small talk myself. How can anyone be expected to move their feet and their lips at the same time?”

“That is what I told Childermass,” exclaimed Mr Norrell. “I really do not care about dresses,” he added, “and I would much rather be at home myself.”

“Oh so would I; here, this is what I like about this dress” – Lady Charlotte held out her skirt and showed Mr Norrell that there was a small pocket sewn inside with a book tucked within.

“Most ingenious,” said Mr Norrell. By now they had danced two lengths of the hall and the March was almost over. He decided that he must come to the nub of his business before the Chasse began; afterwards he would have enough to do in protecting Lady Charlotte from her own feet and the other dancers from Lady Charlotte. 

“Since I have helped you to dance,” he said, “will you please help me speak to your husband about a plan I have to stop a French invasion? I had learned a longer speech but that is what it is about in a nutshell and anyway, I cannot remember the full version.”

“A plan to stop invasion? It does not involve trained dogs or a tunnel under The English Channel so that we may attack the French first, does it?” said Lady Charlotte, tripping a little on her skirt. “I passed on a notion that did a few weeks ago to be kind to the gentleman who told me of it and Charles is still teasing me about it.”

“No, this is something quite different,” said Mr Norrell, carefully leading her past another couple whom she was in danger of running down.

“You have borne with me treading on your toes very bravely, so I will help you Mr Norrell,” said Lady Charlotte. “My husband will be here later at around eleven; I will introduce you to him then. You will have to speak to him tonight however; there is bad news from France and we must leave for London as soon as possible.”

Mr Norrell thanked her and then led her into the Chasse, where he found, as he had suspected, that he had no time for talking. His energies were quite taken up with protecting his shins from Lady Charlotte’s feet and the other dancers from her elbows. Some men might have been pleased to have to hold a beautiful young lady so tight; Mr Norrell was chiefly interested in wondering how one small light person could inflict so much damage. 

The dance ended and Mr Norrell was able to hand Lady Charlotte over to young captain of Hussars. Then he limped to the refreshments table, downed the first glass that he saw in one, and asked the attendant for another. Now he had only to wait for Sir Charles to arrive and then he could escape back to Hurtfew. In the meantime he would allow himself a few pleasant daydreams of how exactly he would report his success to Childermass.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr Prendergast appeared by his side. “There you are my dear,” he said. “Gilbert Norrell dancing; never tell me that the age of miracles is dead.” 

The lady next to him (whom Mr Norrell recognised as Mrs Prendergast) nodded in agreement. “But you are the one who always says that the York Assembly is so tedious that you will shoot yourself if I drag you to another dance,” she said. “Perhaps you will complain a little less the next time we come.” (“I doubt it”, said her husband, “it is my only pleasure at these things.”)

Now the musicians in the gallery struck up another measure and Mrs Prendergast seized Mr Norrell’s free hand.

“A Gallop,” she said “Come Mr Norrell; you can tell me all the London gossip while we are dancing.”

Mr Norrell tried to protest that he was not going out on the floor again but Mrs Prendergast would have none of it. “You danced with that London young lady so you cannot refuse a fellow Yorkshirewoman,” she said. “Besides I thought that you did very nicely; of course, Lady Charlotte is such an accomplished dancer that she would make any partner look well.”

In vain Mr Norrell appealed to Mr Prendergast; that gentleman, with a lack of possessiveness quite admirable in a husband, simply smiled and nodded his permission, taking the glass from Mr Norrell’s hand as he did so and downing the contents himself.

Once back in the middle, Mr Norrell found that the couples were arranged in lines and dancing some form of country measure; he had not learned it but Mrs Prendergast was well acquainted with the steps and quite happy to propel him around the room, something that he found rather restful after his endeavours with Lady Charlotte. After a few minutes it seemed that the dance was over and Mrs Prendergast was curtseying to him.

“Thank you Mr Norrell, you are livelier on your feet than I would have supposed” said she. “And now I can tell all my friends that I have danced with one of the great men of our times.”

“I am obliged, Madam, but really...” began Mr Norrell, thinking this accurate but a little premature.

“Oh, not you,” she replied. “Lady Charlotte danced with Lord Nelson on his last visit to London before Trafalgar; it was in all the papers. Now that I have danced with you and you have danced with her, why it is as if I have danced with Nelson himself.”

Mr Norrell bowed – he could think of no other response – and made for the refreshments. But before he had taken two steps to safety, another lady whom he did not know had taken his hand and pulled him back into the measure.

“I thought that it was finished,” he cried as the music began again.

“Oh no,” said his new partner, “that was just the first passage; now we change partners and dance again.”

“Will it take long?” asked Mr Norrell looking down the line of his fellow dancers.

“Not at all – barely an hour,” said the lady.

It seemed that Mr Norrell with his small feet, polite hands and willingness to listen rather than talk was something of a welcome novelty at the ball; moreover his having danced with Lady Charlotte gave him cache. In short, he found himself passed around Mrs Prendergast’s circle of friends like a lap dog for forty minutes until he was able to escape and make for the refreshments table again. There he was greeted by a gentleman in the uniform of the Light Dragoons, who insisted on handing him a glass and introducing him to his fellow officer.

“Farquahr,” he said, clapping Mr Norrell on the shoulder, “this is the mighty hero who has danced with every matron and maiden aunt in the place and left us all the pretty girls.”

“Well done sir,” said Farquahr, slapping Mr Norrell on his other shoulder. “You are the toast of the 5th Dragoons.”

Mr Norrell tried to protest that, since he had had no choice but to dance, he had been perfectly happy with the ladies that he had partnered – for one thing they moved a little more slowly than Lady Charlotte and were better at not pushing him into pillars – but the officers only laughed and made some comments about a mare being as fine a ride as a filly if that was what one liked; this confused him even more as he did not see how they had got onto the subject of horse riding. With a final shake of his hand, the two gentlemen disappeared back to the ballroom, telling the attendant to fill Mr Norrell’s glass again. Mr Norrell drank the water down – at least he assumed that it was water as it was a clear liquid with no odour – accepted the replenishment and hid himself behind a pillar to catch his breath.

The dance floor was becoming more crowded;the dancing more free and the noise rose even higher. Even Mr Marlborough was obliged to raise an eyebrow and look a little concerned on his dais at the front. Mr Norrell allowed himself to be pulled into one more measure in which even Mr Prendergast had agreed to participate.

“You see, Norrell,” said that gentleman as they shuffled round in a circle which bore no resemblance to any dance outlined by Mr John Playford, “Your neighbours are not so terrible, are we? You cannot say that you have not enjoyed being with us a little.”

Mr Norrell considered this for a moment. “I could say that I almost liked you,” he answered at last with a hiccup.

Mr Prendergast laughed. “Thank you Norrell – I might say the same of you. But now I would sit down in the quiet and have a little less gin if I were you.”

Mr Norrell nodded and retreated to the quiet of the tea room, where he sat in a chair and smiled to himself. At one point Mr Wilson appeared by his side to show him an antique sword of his grandfather’s which he had smuggled into the ballroom under his coat for no other reason – as he explained to Mr Norrell – than that the Master of Ceremony’s rules forbade it.

“Then why did you bring it in?” said Mr Norrell.

“Because I am an Englishman and that is what an Englishman does when some Jack-In-Office tries to command him,” said Mr Wilson stoutly. He brandished the sword above his head - unfortunately giving a clear view of it to the footman at the door. That functionary was then obliged to chase Mr Wilson around the ballroom, dodging between the pillars as he went, while Mr Wilson taunted him with being nothing better than a Frenchman who wanted to deprive freeborn Englishmen of their rights.

Mr Norrell had at the back of his mind that there was something he was meant to do. But he soon forgot, observed the scene with quiet serenity and even dozed a little. After a while he woke and became aware that a lady and gentleman were both standing over him and talking.

“This is Mr Norrell,” said the lady, nodding at him with her headpiece of feathers. 

“Good evening, sir,” said the gentleman by her side who was about forty and had a pleasant friendly face. He leant down and took the glass out of Mr Norrell’s hand before shaking it gently. “Alas, my dear,” he said, turning to his companion “another man driven to drink by your terpsichorean terrors.”

“Oh, Charles,” said the lady, tapping his arm. “I told you that he did very well; we danced two whole dances together without my scaring him off or his having to retire hurt. Major Grant only lasted half a measure at Bath if you remember.”

“Indeed,” said Sir Charles. “In fact I believe that that was why he returned to his regiment early; he thought that he would be less in danger of injury there.”

“Well I am sorry that he does not seem able to speak to you about his plan to prevent invasion,” said Lady Charlotte. “Poor fellow, the ladies of York have exhausted him.” She whispered “are you able to speak Mr Norrell?” but Mr Norrell only smiled at her and hummed a few lines of “Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill.”

“To be fair it was probably only dogs or a tunnel again,” said Sir Charles. “I need not bother Sir Walter with it – he has enough to worry him at the moment. Come my dear, we must set out for London at once. Make sure this gentleman reaches his carriage safely,” he added, giving a coin to the footman in attendance.

The footman did as he was told and led Mr Norrell out; he helped him retrieve his coat and hat from the attendant, who remembered the sovereign if not Mr Norrell. Then Mr Norrell tottered out into the cold air and was obliged to grasp the footman’s arm to steady himself for a moment.

A flare of red light showed him that his carriage was standing in the street with Childermass beside it smoking his pipe and he made his way towards the sight with pleasure.

“Lucas! Davey!” he called to his servants. “What very good servants you are!”

“Thank you Mr Norrell,” said Lucas gazing down at him from the driver’s seat. “You have never told us that before.”

“Well, do not argue, you are,” said Mr Norrell. “And Brewer is a very good horse.” 

He walked a little unsteadily to the back of the carriage where Brewer was tethered and kissed him on the muzzle. Brewer was a bad tempered horse, as much given to submitting to unexpected caresses as his master but he did not object. Perhaps the fumes on Mr Norrell’s breath had a soporific effect on him.

“Sir, you are drunk,” said Childermass in Mr Norrell’s ear. “Get into the carriage please.”

Mr Norrell drew himself up to look Childermass in the chest. “Yes I am,” he retorted. “Are you?”

“No,” said Childermass, in surprise.

“Well, why not?” demanded Mr Norrell. “Davey,” he continued, “Brewer is a very good horse and I want you to go and buy him a carrot. You and Lucas may have one too. But, Davey,” - here he stood on his tiptoes to whisper to his coachman who was still perched on top of the carriage – “You are not to give a carrot to Mr Childermass – he is sullen and does not deserve one.”

“Right you are, Mr Norrell,” said Davey, taking the proffered coin and pretending to jump down on the other side.

“Get in the carriage sir,” said Childermass, opening the door.

“No,” said Mr Norrell. “Childermass, why must you be so gloomy? Do you think that it is clever, always brooding in my library and playing with your cards? You should bring Hannah to this dance next week, seeing as you are to be married – she would enjoy it and it might cheer you up.”

Childermass silently indicated the open carriage door.

“I am not going in there, I am going in the other door,” said Mr Norrell and walked around to the far side of the coach; since the carriage he was using that night had only the one entrance, this was a doomed enterprise. In the end Childermass was obliged to tuck his master under his arm and then lift him bodily into the coach. Then he put his head over the top of the carriage to have words with Davey and Lucas.

“First, I am not marrying Hannah,” he said. “And not a word of any of this at home.”

“Come on, Mr Childermass,” said Davey. “He’s happy now but what will he be like in the morning? Whoever serves him his breakfast deserves a warning at least.” Childermass nodded reluctantly at this and got back into the carriage where Mr Norrell was smiling to himself. As they drove out of York, he leant out of the window and waved his goodbyes to the city with his hat.

“You have had a pleasant evening then sir,” said Childermass to him when the window was closed. “May I ask what Lady Charlotte had to say about you meeting her husband?”

“That was what I was meant to do!” exclaimed Mr Norrell. “Oh, I am sorry; she was very agreeable but then I had to dance with Mrs Prendergast and the soldiers gave me gin and – Childermass, I will hold a ball at Hurtfew! We will invite Lady Charlotte and I will ask her again there. And you can dance with Hannah!”

“Lady Charlotte has already gone back to London,” said Childermass. “We saw the carriage leave while we were waiting for you.”

“Well then, I shall go to London,” said Mr Norrell. Then he fell asleep, his wig somewhat askew and began to snore.

Childermass watched him for a little while with an unfathomable look on his face; then he moved to sit by his master’s side and to tuck a rug over his knees lest he take cold. And so the carriage rode on through the night back to Hurtfew; Lucas and Davey in quiet but intense debate as to who should tell Hannah and Dido of the evening’s events; Mr Norrell resting gently against Childermass’s shoulder in a dreamless sleep; and Childermass already cogitating on another plan to take his master to London.


End file.
